


War Bride

by ladyofdragons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/M, Gunplay, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift to an RP partner, the sequel to a slightly cracky smut RP thread where the prompt was "Forced Together." Megatron has 'gifted' Deadlock with an Autobot prisoner as spoils of war and he's not entirely sure how to handle the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Bride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/gifts).



> I told myself Flashpoint's fic debut wasn't going to be porn but HAHA I'm bad at finishing gen fics so whoops? Anyway, I swear she's not just a sex tool. *obligatory eye roll at self* 
> 
> All that stuff being said...
> 
> I really love oral sex scenes and power plays and changing things up. And well, these two turned out to have surprisingly good chemistry and I just had to write this scenario.

Last night she'd thought it was funny. 'I'm so posting this to Autopedia if I ever get out of here. No one would ever believe me.' What Autobot came within 10 meters of Deadlock and lived to tell about it, much less ended up in his berth like that?

Today though, the laughs are off. Because she's here, still a prisoner and stuck in his quarters effectively under house arrest. Or whatever the slag this actually was. Spoils of war her aft. She's way more useful to Megatron in pieces, wasn't she? But no, the Decepticon leader had 'given' her to Deadlock, and regardless of what had happened, why Deadlock had spared her, Flashpoint's under no delusions that she's safe.

She knew the Autobots wouldn't come for her. That was the risk of a black ops mission and she knew it from the start. Flashpoint was on her own now. Trapped on a Decepticon ship, surrounded by a Decepticon crew...she had to shift into survival mode, wait things out, observe and plan. She needed intel before she could plan, and needed to safely venture beyond these four walls to get it. Like it or not, she needed Deadlock in this, as an ally or at least a resource.

And so once again she came round to the same conclusion: wait until he returned. It was a lot of time to kill. She should be trying to figure him out, why he let her live, why he let that surprising little tryst happen. But her processor wasn't exactly complying, focusing a little too much on replaying the memory and not so much on the critical analysis.

*****

The sound of his footplates echoed down the corridor, Deadlock's unmistakable heavy stomp more agitated than usual, his surly expression guaranteeing that none dared to stop him in the hall.

The strategy meeting had gone in a less than satisfactory way for his tastes, and his aside with Megatron afterward even less so. Deadlock had arrived determined to ferret out the meaning behind his newest spoils of war, the bot that had been 'given' to him with no stated purpose.

He felt a bit like he'd been tossed a grenade, armed condition unknown, in the form of this Autobot prisoner he was now custodian of. She was a fierce one, the way that she moved said predatory, and if he was going to recharge peacefully in his own room he needed to win either her obedience or her loyalty. Why she was kept alive, aside from the flatly stated 'she's useful', Megatron wouldn't say.

There were things the warlord wasn't telling Deadlock. It was a test or something, and the thought made his plating go cold.

Deadlock was no closer to a solution when he got to his quarters, palming the door lock and irritably stepping inside. Flashpoint was on him the minute the door whispered closed, hands hard on his chassis as he's pushed against the door by her taller frame. It was instinct, the gun in his hand without even thinking about it, leveling it at her midsection. But then the real assault hit and it was her mouth on his, hungry and challenging, her EM field licking at him like wildfire.

It stunned him and Deadlock's processor reeled, finger stalling over the trigger of the safetyless gun. Flashpoint's fingerpads dug under the edges of his chest plating and there was a strange desperation in her grip, in the swipe of her glossa as it invaded his mouth. He relented to it for a moment, flashes of the previous night when she had fragged him like it was her last living act.

The gun muzzle was cool against her belly, both reminder and threat, as their mouthplates parted. "The frag is wrong with you?" Deadlock demanded, red optics hard as he stared up at her. It must be a trick, she wanted something from him.

Flashpoint's expression verified the wanton part, that is until he spoke. "Nothing," she snapped, incredulous, the look on her face cooling. "Just bored is all. Thinking about you. That so weird?" Her tone was challenging, shoulders stiff and held aloft but her belly and pelvic span still warmly pressed against him, gun and all.

"Thinking about assassination you mean."

"Not stupid," she muttered, half incredulous again, but also with a heavy thread of realism. "Only thing standing between me and the scrapyard is you."

"Jumping me as I come in the door is a good way to get yourself there." Idiot. Why even do something like that? It's like she has no self preservation at all. Deadlock was about to chastise her on that note when she leaned in again, dragging full lip plates down one finial, her vented breath hot against the sensitive metal. She's done talking apparently, some of the stiffness ebbing away from her frame, body relaxing against him, pistol and all.

And for a klik he was easing against her too, shivering at the touch to his finial, the gun lowering slightly. But then the realization hit him. He'd been there before, when sex was all there was to offer, the only thing of value. She should be better than that. Anyone's better than that.

His mouth twisted, hard to get the words past. "Don't have to thank me."

"Not thanking you," she said, irritably. Why was he making this weird? "Would you just shut up and let me..."

Flashpoint's glossa finished the sentence but on his collarplate, mouthplates trailing a hot line down his chassis. He stared down at her, this fiery mech who wore the enemy brand and but almost none of its attributes, as she knelt in front of him.

Her glossa flicked out again, swiping slowly over the muzzle of the gun still held stiffly at Deadlock's waist. "Might want to put that away before someone gets hurt."

If nothing before this had convinced him, the hooded look on her face and the lascivious lick of her EM field against his thighs did it all on their own. No sooner had he holstered the weapon and a jolt of sensation snapped through his body, her mouth a searing heat on his interface panel. Deadlock's array pinged online in a flash, his spike surging behind its cover at the offering, wanting that heat, that wetness, wanting _her_.

He groaned, engine rumbling, trying to hold back and maintain some decorum, some sense that he was still in control of the situation.

"Don't think I can't do this all night," she said between tenacious flicks of her glossa, dragging her dentae over the metal while fingers battered from many battles found their way into the joins at each hip, teasing the wires there. "Open up for me."

He answered with a growl and a click of the panel's lock as he disengaged it, spike pressurizing with barely the touch of her warm breath. There was a rumble of satisfaction from Flashpoint as she eyed the gold and black shaft, her field flaring hotly against him. "I didn't get to see you last night, taste you."

The thought flashed hotly through his systems, hips jolting at the idea, Deadlock's spike reminding him of its neglect the night previous. Not that he regrets what they did instead, even if he'd never admit it. Heat rose in Deadlock's frame as he squirmed restlessly at the memory. "Savin' the best for later," he huffed. Yeah, that's totally why he let her spike him last night. And why he's letting her at the rest of him now.

There was more bravado where that came from, but it tripped and fell out his mouth as an inarticulate garble when she applied her own mouth to his spike, warmth and wetness and a lovely suction smashing through the walls of conscious thought. Something in his belly twitched, a long low groan escaping as her mouth worked. But for all Flashpoint's teasing she only had so much patience. So the artful, delicate way she used her glossa on the complex surface of the spike and all its delicate sensor nodes only lasted so long, then she was ardently taking it into her mouth again and again.

Deadlock's processor reeled again, the sensation burning through the confusion, why she'd want to do this, a thing he's always associated with submission. It's heady and strange, this raw want of hers with no strings that he can find attached. Interfacing had always served a purpose, good or bad: buying favor, establishing power or dominance, or just putting food in his mouth. The way she came at him, seemed to want him for no other reason...it made no sense.

He's careening off into a land of uncomfortable uncertainty, but there's a thrill in it, grasping desperately for a little bit of control even as his thighs shuddered and something coiled low in his belly. Dark hips buck in concert with her movements, air panting hotly from wide open vents as his hands reached out and landed on her helm, wanting that overlord, the urge to _thrust_ so very intense...

Strong hands gripped his wrists, fingers digging into the cables as she pulled his hands away, Flashpoint's yellow optics glinting hard even as her lip plates stretched over the girth of his spike. She pinned Deadlock's wrists roughly at his sides, her hands punishing but her mouth rewarding as it slid down to take in his whole length, lips meeting the baseplate, giving a hard suck.

A ragged gasp slipped out of Deadlock, fingers taut beneath pinned wrists, her grip hard almost to the point of pain, thighs quivering as his back strut pressed hard to the door. "Fraggin' hurry up," he growled, husky voice sounding more desperate than commanding. But she took it as a command anyway, optics softening with amusement as she started moving again with renewed zeal, her scarred lip plates seeking to drag the overload from him with a fervent pace. His body spasmed finally, choking off a cry as his hips jerked. Dark fingers clawed marks in the door as the cascade of charge rippled over the nodes to her tongue, his spike jumping in her mouth.

It took a moment for the white out to clear from his HUD, then the first thing he saw is the lick of scarred lips over a cat-like grin. Her sated field, plush against him now, dragged upwards as she stands. "Not bad. I could go for seconds sometime."

"Who says I'll let you?" His freed hands grabbed at her chestplate, mirroring her grip from earlier to drag her mouth towards his, claiming it with a hard kiss. He might have issued a new challenge, but they both knew it wouldn't last.

"How 'bout right now," Flashpoint whispered huskily into his mouth, fingers racking up the backs of his thighs. "Turn around..."


End file.
